Date: Thu, 24 Feb 2005 08:56:05 +0000 (GMT)
From: roy p......
Subject: Wanker
A story of a boy's first step down the path of self-discovery.
Based loosely on a former school friend's account of a chance
encounter, which he swore at the time was true. My fertile and
over-erotic mind has embellished it somewhat, though.
Let me know if you like it: like all erotica, it is intended to
titillate. I hope it does.
Wanker
Michael Thompson was a typical 13-year-old boy. Hormones on legs.
He had discovered the pleasure of masturbation at the age of 12-1/2,
and practiced the pleasure daily. Several times daily. Like most
boys, he loved the high it gave him, and was addicted to it.
His cock was dominant in his life: it would spring to life at the
drop of a hat, demanding attention. Attention that Mike delighted
to give it, even under the most difficult of situations.
Mike did a paper round before and after school, requiring him to
get up at 6:30, wash, dress, and be at the papershop by 6:50. The
round would take just over an hour, giving him time to return
home for breakfast before changing into school uniform and
leaving for school at 8:40.
Quite often he would lie in bed until the last possible moment
before getting up. Bed was warm and comfortable, the outside
world was not. The downside to this was that he didn't get time
to deal with the first erection of the day, which would spring up
while he was washing his face and hands, having emptied his
bladder beforehand. Most days it would gently subside on its own,
and wait patiently until after the morning round before re-
erecting itself, requiring his satisfaction before he redressed
for school.
Five minutes is all it took, five minutes of hand shuffling
tightly round hard cock, other hand lightly squeezing balls or
tickling the sensitive skin behind them, five minutes of private
pleasure which culminated in three or four goodly-sized squirts
of sperm and that wonderful afterglow, the warmth spreading
through his body that was the ultimate aim of the task.
One late autumn day, however, that first erection wouldn't go
away. The weather wasn't cold yet, just chilly, and Mike wore his
blue tracksuit for the paper round, and he enjoyed the feeling of
his erection tenting the boxers and tracksuit bottoms as he
walked to the shop. He managed to avoid Mr. Cartwright, the
shopkeeper, or any of the three other paperboys, seeing his
tented clothes, and walked the deserted morning streets proudly
pushing his sideways mountain in front of him, occasionally
giving it a tweak with his fingers to keep it interested.
His round consisted of two streets to the east of Victoria Park,
and two streets on its west side, which meant, of course, a walk
through the park to reach the second two streets. Halfway along
the second street on the first half of the round, his erection,
still pushing proudly in front of him, escaped through the front
opening of his boxers. His cockhead now rubbed the lining fabric
of the tracksuit bottoms as he walked, a very sensuous feeling
which made it harder still. This erection demanded satisfaction,
and it demanded it now!
Mike could have just reached under his waistband and tucked it
away, but what 13-year-old boy would take away a pleasurable
feeling in his cock? Certainly not Mike. He let the rubbing
continue, he could deal with the problem as he walked through the
deserted park.
The last house on the easterly half of his round was almost next
to the park gates, and his relief was at hand. Literally.
Once inside the park, Mike looked around. It was still only half
light, but he could see nobody else about. There never was. He
pushed down the front of his tracksuit bottoms, hitching the
waistband under his balls. He walked on, his hard cock leading
the way, the cool air thrilling to feel on it. Halfway across,
there was a clump of bushes, almost as tall as him, and he
stopped by them, dropped the paperbag from his shoulder, and went
to work on his erection. He held it tightly and slid his hand up
and down it, sliding the skin over the meat beneath. This was
going to be a good one, so he didn't go flat out at it, but led
himself up to a peak several times, then slowed down to prolong
the pleasure. "This time," he thought, and strummed away for
England on it, arching his back and straining every muscle in his
body to heighten the erection, and the subsequent pleasure.
"Yeah - yeah - yeah" he called out as the orgasmic waves started,
"Aahhh - aahhh - aahhh" as he let the peak subside for the last
time. "Yeah - yeah - YEAHHH!" as the climax came, the jets of
white arcing up, away, as high as the bush, falling on its broad
green leaves.
"Phhewwww!" he said afterwards, as the orgasmic warmth swept up
and down his body. 'That was good, ' he thought, shaking the last
few drops of sperm from his cock onto the ground, 'that was
fuckin' good!'
Mike hitched up his boxers and tracksuit bottoms, wiggled his
cock around with his hand to settle it, picked up the paperbag,
looked around to make sure nobody had seen, and walked off to
finish the paper round.
He didn't see the other boy, peeking round a tree, holding the
lead and small dog out of sight, watching in awe at him wanking
off over a bush. As Mike walked off towards the west gate, the
boy cautiously came out from behind the tree and walked up to the
bush. He dipped a finger in the warm white liquid on a leaf, and
raised it to his face, touching it on his tongue. He looked
toward Mike again, dropped the dog lead to the ground and stood
on it, unzipped his jeans and fished out his own throbbing
erection, and frantically rubbed it until it too fired a stream
of white boyjuice, adding to that already on the leaves.
Mike was able to take care of his private pleasures more easily
throughout the day: twice in the school toilets, once over the
toilet at home, and once in his shower before bed. He remembered
the one in the park with enthusiasm, though - the risk of being
caught always added that extra edge.
Next morning, Mike looked at the bush as he walked through the
park and smiled. If you knew where to look, as he did, you could
just see the dried remains of his relief of yesterday. He walked
on, already self-satisfied at home before the paper round. The
other boy watched from behind the tree, no dog today, and was
disappointed that the fit-looking paperboy just walked on by. He
still went and splashed his white juice over the bush, though,
remembering the previous morning's surprise vision.
The following morning was the same. Mike walked straight past the
bush, giving it just a cursory glance. The other boy, behind his
usual tree, was frustrated. He wanted to see the paperboy do it
again! He wanted to be there, share the experience, share the
same pleasurable high he knew he could reach. They could reach.
Together.
Monday morning was the same. Mike didn't even look at the bush.
The other boy walked home empty, devoid of feeling, but full of
expectation.
Tuesday was different. As Mike approached the bush, the other boy
was standing by it. Rubbing a leaf between his finger and thumb.
Mike thought this odd. Very odd. He glanced at the bush as he
passed, at the leaf in the boy's fingers. White stuff! It was
covered in white stuff, sperm, spunk, cum! Mike stopped dead in
his tracks and looked at the boy, the frown of a question on his
forehead.
"Don't you want to add to it today? I added to yours last week!"
the boy said, a wicked smile just creasing his mouth.
"Wha - what?"
"I watched you from behind that tree." Pointing to his tree, a
wide trunked Oak a few yards back down the path.
Mike coloured up red, broke out in a sudden sweat and was angry.
"Fuck off!" he said, loudly.
"Come on, let's do it together!" the boy said, and dropping his
hand to his jeans, unzipped the fly and slipped the waist button,
then pulled out his half-hard cock and rubbed it.
Mike was astounded. He'd never seen another boy doing it before,
a couple waved around hard in the showers after P.E, yes, but not
- he was doing it! Pulling it back and fro, wanking off in front
of me!
"I ain't queer!" Mike said, sternly.
"Neither am I," said the boy, "but you're a wanker, like me, an'
I don't see any girls around to do it for us, so come on, you
know it's great!"
Mike certainly was stiffening up at the sight of this boy, about
a year younger than him, sliding the skin to and fro on his very
stiff cock in front of him. But he didn't want to, not in front
of another boy. That was queer, gay, he wasn't into gay stuff.
His cock told him otherwise. It had boned up quickly, and Mike
knew it would be leaking precum now, he felt so turned on.
Mike dropped the paperbag, pushed down his tracksuit bottoms and
boxers almost to his knees, put his left arm on the boy's
shoulder and pulled him closer to the bush. He was going at it
fast, a quick release. Then he felt the fingers, pushing his hand
out of the way, circling his cock, taking up the action. Amazing!
What a wonderful feeling, another hand doing it for him! But
wait! This was gay! Queerstuff! He tried to pull the hand off.
The hand gripped tighter, pulled harder, faster. He gave up
trying. He stood there and enjoyed the feeling, the raw sexual
sensual feeling of someone else's hand wanking him off. This was
the ultimate goal, the nirvana he couldn't reach on his own.
Bliss! He closed his eyes and relaxed. And enjoyed.
Mike didn't know he'd taken his arm off the boy's shoulder,
dropped it in front of the boy's shaking arm, gripped the boy's
firm young erection. But he knew when he started rubbing it,
giving its length the pleasure his own was getting, he wanted to
do this. He wasn't gay, or queer, or a faggot, or whatever else
name boys would give men who liked men, but he wanted to do this.
Give the pleasure he was getting. Ecstasy.
His eyes rolled up, his eyelids fluttered. He felt the tingle,
the tightening of his balls. He had no control, he couldn't slow
up, he knew it would overwhelm him soon, unstoppable (not that
he'd want to stop it), desirable, exquisite. He needed the
release, and he needed it NOW.
As if in slow motion, freeze frame in real life, he felt the
sperm in his cock rushing towards escape, freedom. His legs
quivered, his knees bent, his back arched - it was still coming.
NOW, I need it NOW, more than I need life, I need this release, I
need this surge of power to burst from me, I need to - to -
He came. Boy, how Mike came. He emptied out, every last sperm in
his body escaped from his cock slit. He came so hard, it hurt. It
physically hurt, burnt as it rushed from him. His body shook,
quaked from the orgasm, his legs turned to jelly and he nearly
fell over. His first two jets cleared the bush completely, the
other six coated the green leaves with white.
He spun sideways, crouched down and swapped hands on the boy's
cock. He had to give him what he'd just had. He rubbed as hard,
and as fast as he could. The boy's knees bent, Mike put his left
arm behind the boy's back to hold him, and went for gold.
The boy screamed in Mike's ear as he came, Mike kept pumping
until the boy's hand pushed him off, but the cock kept spurting,
strings, no, ropes of cum splashing the leaves, running and
dripping, hanging gossamer threads in the dawn light.
The boy composed himself quickly, shaking the drips off the end
of his bloated cock before tucking it back in his pants and
zipping his jeans. Mike stood up.
The boy bent forward and kissed Mike's cock, hanging limp, spent,
red and damp. He licked the last drop of sperm from the wrinkled
foreskin, then straightened up.
"Tomorrow?" he asked.
"I ain't queer!" Mike sneered.
"No. Tomorrow." The boy walked off, back the way Mike had come.
Mike hitched up his tracksuit, watching the boy walk off.
He turned, shouted "Wanker!", smiled, and continued walking.
Mike put his hands to the sides of his mouth, to amplify his
shout. "Wanker!" he shouted.
The boy carried on walking, didn't look round, but raised a hand
above himself, formed a circle of his finger and thumb, and shook
his hand in the air.
'I ain't queer, I ain't queer' Mike kept thinking as he continued
his walk across the park.
'Keep thinking it, you might believe it!' his brain told him.